A Thousand Times
by LongLiveLaura
Summary: Andys POV on a night spent with Sharon. More PWP than not. Rated for language, sexual situations/graphic descriptions of sex.


Having said our hasty goodnights, I follow her down the hall and into her room, and close the door behind me. She goes through to the bathroom without looking at me, and I shake my head and chuckle. She's flustered now that we've nearly been caught, literally, with our pants down.

When I hear her open the taps, presumably to wash her face and brush her teeth, I strip down to my underwear, turn down the bed and get in, and wait for her to come back. I'm still half hard from fooling around with her on the couch.

She comes out after a minute or two, barefaced and half dressed. She turns away from me to remove her remaining clothes, but I watch as she bends over to pull her pants down. She's got a great ass, and her panties have ridden up on both sides, probably from when she was straddling my lap and grinding on me not ten minutes ago. My dick twitches at the thought.

She's slow to straighten up, and I realize she knows I'm watching her. She makes a show of unhooking her bra and letting it slip down her arms, before pulling a plain cotton nightgown on over her head. I'm thinking about how much I hate that fucking thing as she flips the ends of her hair out from under the neck, then snaps off the lights.

She wordlessly climbs under the covers beside me and snuggles up to me, and I know I'm not gonna let her peck me on the cheek and roll over and go to sleep like she hadn't been as worked up as me before the kid got home.

I can be quiet.

I turn onto my side, dislodging her from where she'd settled in the crook of my arm. I can't help but smile at the surprise - annoyance, maybe - on her face. But then I kiss her, slowly, intently, and she puts her hands in my hair, and kisses me back.

When she parts her lips and I slip my tongue in her mouth, she makes this noise in the back of her throat, a hum-slash-whimper, that lets me know she's no more willing than I am to let this thing go tonight.

I reach up under the hem of her nightgown and pull her underwear down to her knees, and as she's wiggling her way out of 'em, I cup my hand between her legs. I can feel the heat of her on my fingertips before I maneuver a finger inside her.

She's wet. I push another finger into her body and start pumping them slowly in and out of her.

My mouth is still moving over hers, but sloppily now, 'cause our focus is split between the kissing and the finger fucking.

I jerk and press into her palm when she slides a firm hand over my hard-on. She deftly slips the hand through the fly of my boxers and wraps her fingers around my shaft, and I give up even the pretense of kissing her, and drop my chin onto her shoulder while we stroke each other.

We're both breathing hard, which sounds loud to my ear, but I know it's not carrying through her bedroom walls to give us away.

But then she moans when I press my thumb to her clit, and I stop moving and shush her. She looks at me in the low light, seeming almost pained at not being able to voice her pleasure, but nods and impatiently rolls her hips to encourage me to resume banging her.

Which I do.

The closer she gets to orgasm, the more she thrusts into the motion of my hand, and the less she tugs on my dick. When she's really close, she pulls her hand outta my shorts altogether and grips my wrist. She's not trying to force my movements; just holding onto me, feeling my muscles and tendons flex as I work to get her off. It's damned sexy.

I don't know where I want to look; at my hand between her legs, where my fingers, wet with her arousal, disappear into her body and my thumb moves in circles just below her neatly trimmed bush, or at her face. Her perfect fucking face, with the lines splintering from the corners of her closed eyes, the lashes sweeping the flush of her cheeks, the fullness of her parted lips as she's panting, the stray hairs sticking to her forehead, shiny with sweat.

She's beautiful. Every fucking inch of her.

The decision is made for me when her eyes pop open and lock onto mine. I can't look away from the emotion playing out on her face. All at once, she looks desperate and contented, sad and joyful, and I wish I was a fucking poet.

She lifts her free hand to my face, her eyes slide shut again, she arches her back and comes with a great indrawn breath - which I know, were we alone in the house, would have instead been a string of iOh, my God, Andy/i s.

I remove my thumb from her clit, but swirl my fingers around inside her - slowly, exactly how she likes it while she's riding out an orgasm. And I grind my fucking hard-on into her hip.

When she's ready, she releases her grip on my wrist and pushes at my arm so that I withdraw my hand.

I immediately move to lie atop her, pressing my belly to hers. While supporting my weight with one hand, I point my dick in the vicinity of her opening with the other, and enter her.

I sorta collapse onto my elbows, and smother a groan in her cleavage. She wraps her arms around me and hugs my head to her chest with a little sigh, and we just stay that way for a few minutes, just ... connected.

Just when I'm thinking I could die happy right here, on her, iin/i her, she starts rocking, and damned if that doesn't make me wonder if I am indeed in heaven.

I raise my head to kiss her, and we get a good rhythm going - slow and sedate, but my shaft rubbing over her clit is getting her wound up again.

At this angle, she's only taking about two inches of my cock, but it doesn't matter to either of us 'cause it's working. So well, in fact, that I start to fear I'll bust my nut before she can come again.

Her nightie has ridden up so that I can reach right under it and grab her tits. I love her tits, and she does that whimper-slash-hum thing again when I say so. Then she tenses under me, stutters my name, and jerks once.

Her body temperature must rise when she comes, because I swear her pussy just got hotter around my dick. She's definitely wetter; I'm sliding through her flesh more easily now.

I bury my face in her neck and flex my hips until the head of my dick is bumping into the back wall of her vagina with every thrust. It crosses my mind that I'm utterly graceless, like the first coupla times I had sex as a kid - before Mike D'Angelo's sister taught me how to fuck - but I don't give a shit. It's Sharon, and I love her and she feels good and she's whispering in my ear and her hair smells like flowers and it's enough ... and I come, grunting like a rutting animal.

She smooths her hands up and down my back, repeatedly presses her lips to my temple, as I blow my wad in fits and starts. I briefly wonder if my orgasms are so much more explosive now because I'm old and they're fewer and farther between, or if they just feel so damned good because I'm so happy to be fucking iher/i. The thought is fleeting, though, vanquished by the pleasant buzzing, an almost numbness, that simultaneously overtakes my body and my mind.

The next thing I know, she's tapping me on the back and quietly calling my name. I snap outta that post-coital haze and realize she's bearing my full weight and probably can't breathe very well. I push up onto my arms and gaze dumbly down at her. She looks ready to say something, and I assume it's about what feels like a quart of seminal fluid slowly spilling from between her legs now that my dick has begun to soften and has slipped from her body. It's cooling and getting stickier, and it's fucking everywhere, probably because I was barely inside her when I came.

I start to climb off her, but she puts her hands on my shoulders and stops me moving away. I watch her gaze skip around my face until she engages my eyes. I must look confused, because she smiles - that closed-lip near-smirk - and cradles my face in her hands. She says she loves me as though she's said it a thousand times. And I'm stunned.

Like an idiot, I just stare at her, my mouth hanging open in shock while I process the words. Those three little words. Spoken from iher/i lips. Meant for imy/i ears.

Only when I notice her brow furrowing do I realize I that I've let too much time pass since her proclamation. I refocus and am stunned, again, to see doubt in her eyes - fear, even. She's afraid I don't return the sentiment, and I swear to Christ, I could cry at her vulnerability.

I roll off her onto my side and wrap my arms around her, slide one hand into her hair at the back of her head and hug her tightly to me. I tell her that I love her. That I have loved her for iso long/i, that I've wanted to tell her a thousand times.

I loosen my hold on her so that I can kiss her. I kiss her with, I don't know, renewed reverence, because I want her to believe me, I want her to ifeel/iit. And maybe she does, because her breath catches and I feel a hot little tear roll over the hand I'm using to hold her face to mine.

I'm starting to think I've fucked this up, and my heart starts thundering in my chest. But then her lips curve against my mouth and I pull back, relieved beyond measure to see a smile lighting her face. I can't help but grin, probably stupidly, back at her, when she says it again.

This time, I hug her, nuzzle my nose into hair, and let the words fall out of my mouth right into her ear.

Without letting go of each other, we reposition ourselves more comfortably - scooting away from the wet spot toward her side of the bed - and end up as we started; me on my back, her snuggled into my side with her head in the crook of my arm.

She sighs, and pretty soon I feel her relax and know that she's asleep.

My own lids are suddenly heavy, and I give in, and greet sleep with a fullness in my heart the likes of which I've never known.


End file.
